Off He Goes
by Bleecker
Summary: RENT, focused on Mark


It was another one of those days. Mark sat silently looking at his hands, wrapped around the old, antique camera. Up here, nothing bothered him. Up here, nothing mattered. Up here, he was the most important, and everybody loved him. Mark's boots slipped off the edge of the building, causing a few rocks to drop onto the lonely sidewalk. He watched Roger and Mimi cross the street, she would laugh and Roger would tilt his head, his guitar was slung around his back like it always was, his amp in his other hand. Mark shook his head and looked down again. Was it even really worth it anymore?  
  
"What am I doing..." He spoke softly.  
  
The metal door rumbled and squeaked open.  
  
"Mark?" It was Collins.  
  
Mark's neck turned slowly as he raised his hand to his friend.  
  
"Hey man."  
  
"Hey." Collins said as he sat down next to Mark.  
  
"You alright?" Collins warmed his hands between his legs and looked sideways at Mark.  
  
"Yea? Me? I'm fine." Mark shrugged and looked down again.  
  
"You know, it's alright to be mad."  
  
"Mad about what?"  
  
"Come on."  
  
"I'm over her. It's over. Done."  
  
"Look. I'm friends with all you guys. But if you still love her, then you have got to tell her. It's not fair to her or yourself if you just keep it locked up inside like this."  
  
"Collins."  
  
"Sorry."  
  
Mark stood up.  
  
"I'm tired of this."  
  
Collins wrapped his jacket tighter around his body and bent his head against the wind, currently riding swiftly through his dreads and causing him to shiver in his coat.  
  
"Of what"  
  
"This. This New York City, I'm a lonely guy, so I'm with my friends life. I need a change, Collins. A big change."  
  
Collins watched Mark pace the edge of the building and sat silently with his foot digging into the gravel of the roof. There was a staining silence.  
  
Mark's face twisted slightly. "Do you really think I should tell her?" He felt his heart jump into his throat, causing his speech to come out shot, like a wrench stuck into the engine of an old car.  
  
Collins breathed out.  
  
"I think so."  
  
"Do you think she knows?"  
  
"No."  
  
Mark's hands slid up and down his thighs nervously.  
  
"Are you sure you're alright?" Collins asked, taking a plastic bag from his pocket, in which was a battered up box of Marlboros.  
  
"I'm fine." Mark shook his hand as Collins offered him a cigarette.  
  
Collins opened the plastic bag, crumbled it, and threw it off the roof. They watched it float, being inflated with air, as it almost magically flew above the streets and off towards the park. Collins sparked the cigarette and blew smoke into the air, watching it twirl into the black night sky.  
  
"I've gotta go." Mark said suddenly, as if being pulled towards the center of the building, he stumbled over the gravel.  
  
"Alright. Good luck."  
  
He jumped over the steps and crashed through the door, looking down the steps. He was suddenly nauseous with the smell of piss and the fluorescent bulb blinding him. Mark bent over and held his knees to his stomach.  
  
"You have to do this. You have to."  
  
Mark stood up again, holding the wall and jogging down the steps, counting the amount of times he'd wanted to do this in his head.  
  
All he saw was her smile, all he saw was her face, her lips, her hair, her.  
  
His boots continued to pound down the three flights of stairs until he was outside, on the street, susceptible to the rest of the world. Ready to be infected.  
  
He raised his hand up at Collins, who still had the cig stuck between his dark lips. Collins sucked in smoke and raised his hand back at Mark from the roof, as he turned to find the door.  
  
Mark stood in the middle of the street, looking down each side. Where was she. Where was she. She'd told him.  
  
A cab screeched and Marks face turned towards the lights, he fell back onto his hands and crawled away slowly. His heart was pumping like mad as the cab driver raised his fist and cursed him.  
  
"You have to. You gotta do it." He mumbled under his breath.  
  
"Just think." Mark closed his eyes.  
  
He rested his hand on the white brick wall of his building, he watched the life spill from the cafe across the street, and the usuals roam Avenue B.  
  
Someone knocked into his shoulder, causing his camera to fall free from his hand. For a second, Mark thought his camera was jacked, but heard it hit the ground, it's pieces spewing all over the sidewalk.  
  
"Hey!" Mark yelled at the guy, and then shriveled back as he realized the massive size of this guy's muscles, holding open his own coat to look at his puny body, well what did he expect with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches as a diet.  
  
Mark was infuriated. His cheeks were flushed. He felt tears welling behind his eyes. He stuck his fingers under his glasses and rubbed his eyes.  
  
"FUCK!" He screamed, kicking the wall.  
  
Mark rested his head against the ugly rotten brick, feeling the hot tears stream down his face. He fell to the ground and curled up. Swiping a piece of paper from the ground to rip it up, he opened it slowly instead, noticing the familiar WORLD PEACE PLEASE logo.  
  
He felt his chest huffing and his breaths were rushed, but now a sense, a different feeling rushed over him.  
  
His feet slid out from under him, as he sat back.  
  
"Maureen Johnson performing all week, 125th street and 1st Ave, come to be AMAZED DAZZLED INSPIRED!"  
  
Mark stuck his thumb into his mouth, feeling like a third grade girl.  
  
He closed his eyes again. Her face, her eyes, her smile.  
  
"Of course. She's going to make me travel all the way up there to see her."  
  
And of course you'll go. Mark thought to himself, tilting his head. How did she do these things to him.  
  
He felt some higher power lift his body from the pavement and push him towards the subway, he stopped momentarily to pick up the film, which still looked intact from the street, as he shoved it into his pocket, he stumbled down the steps of the 4-5-6 subway stop. He was unphased by the group of guys with pink hair and multiple piercings, asking him if he was feeling hot. No, nothing could stop him now.  
  
He watched as the subway guard turned her face, and slowly ducked his head under the steel turnstiles. His knees bounced and he smiled as a new film built in his brain.  
  
The subway rambled into the stop, screaming with unpleasant shrills of sickness and overuse. It seemed to mumble "take me home, I wanna go home, take me home, I'm tired of this"  
  
Mark hopped into the 4 train and slide into an orange seat, across from a familiar looking face.  
  
"Mark!" He took his thumb from his mouth and held his hand open. His beady blue eyes shot across to the woman, like a camera, focusing in on her. 


End file.
